Down the Rabbithole
by ElizabethStarling
Summary: When Liz is poisoned on an undercover mission, Red races to find the antidote and the mole before time runs out.
1. Chapter 1

Undercover missions had always unnerved Liz. There was always the chance something could go wrong, or that Red's true mission could be exposed. She walked toward the table with confidence she pretended to posses, her gaze flicking past the faces that hunched over plates or spoke loudly. They were here to meet a Blacklister, relatively low on the list and Red would do most of the talking. Liz adjusted the microphone button on her coat.

"Lizzie!"

The shrill voice made Liz freeze, then she faced the table in question. Cassandra Reed. Her high school nemesis had gained a few wrinkles but her voice remained the same: cutting. Two other women Liz faintly recognized were sitting with her. With little choice in the matter, Liz moved closer. She had to shut up Cassandra before her target arrived, and she could only accomplish that by talking. Ironic.

"What are you doing here? I thought this place was too ritzy for you."

Liz could read between those lines. Once a foster kid, always a foster kid. Somehow it labeled her as less in Cassandra's mind. Liz's thieving hadn't helped with that image either.

"I'm with a friend."

Liz cast a furtive glance toward Red, who was speaking with the restaurant's owner, out of earshot and faraway. Of course he was. Red knew everybody. Cassandra followed Liz's gaze and she smirked.

"A friend? Is he your _boyfriend_?" She mocked, raising an eyebrow as she appraised Red. Liz internally winced. Ressler was probably hearing everything.

"Or your sugar daddy?" One of her cronies spoke up with a knowing look.

"I knew it all your high grades in school didn't come _just_ from hard work." Cassandra said. That sent the other two snickering, while Cassandra just grinned. Liz flushed as rage burned through her veins. Then she felt Red's hand on her arm and the laughter ceased.

"Who's this, Lizzie?"

She could tell from his tone he'd heard the last part and wasn't happy.

"Nobody. Just some old friends. Let's go."

She broke from his grasp and strode over to their table, leaving the whispering behind.

Red joined her, anger and worry mixing in his eyes in a way only his could.

"They didn't sound like _friends_."

"Drop it, Red." She snapped.

To her surprise he complied and raised a hand to order drinks while they waited. Maybe a drink was what she needed. After she gave her order, Liz stood.

"I'll be right back."

She could feel Red's gaze on her as she left. In the restroom Liz inhaled, looking at herself in the mirror. Why had she let Cassandra rattle her so much? It was time to get her head back on straight. She had a mission to complete, lives to save, a cover to keep. Just like Tom. The thought came out of nowhere, and she stopped it before anger clouded her again. Cassandra and Tom be damned. There were more important people to be thinking about, like the ones she was going to save by stopping him.

The drinks were already at the table by the time she arrived, and to her annoyance Red started back on the topic of her friends. She took a gulp of her drink to steady herself.

"Look, Red, Cassandra was the queen bee alright? She took it upon herself to bully me for four years but it's in the past and there's nothing you can do to help me."

From Red's narrowed gaze at the table, Liz could tell he was thinking of one thing.

"When's he supposed to arrive?"

Red looked back toward her, friends temporarily forgotten.

"He's late."

Liz felt her stomach flip. The man they were hunting was Richard Constantine, a harbormaster whose side business was importing human cargo. It was possible he was fleeing as they spoke. She took another sip as she waited, glancing toward the entrance. Had he made them? She considered calling Ressler. Then nausea suddenly climbed into her throat, too strong to have been from anxiety. She gripped the table.

"Lizzie, are you alright?"

"I'm just feeling ill, that's all."

She stood up, praying he wouldn't follow but she heard his chair scrape anyway. She took another few steps toward the restroom before her legs gave out from under her. What the hell was going on? Had she been drugged? Liz felt Red's arm circling her, colors and lights blurring like a carousel going too fast. As darkness ate away at her vision, the last thing she heard was Cassandra Reed laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

Raymond Reddington was not a man easily surprised. But when Liz collapsed at his feet, his heart jumped in his chest. He managed to catch her before her head hit the floor, an intent to shield her from harm. It was a gesture that had come too late. Red's head snapped up at the sound of laughter. Homicide was the only thought in his mind. Though reluctant to leave Liz, Red strode over to the three woman, picking up a steak knife from a passing waiter's tray along the way. It was dirty, and if he had his way, it was going to become even more so. The two women perched on either side of Melissa had the sense to widen their eyes. Melissa didn't as much flinch.

"Which one of you thought it was funny to drug Elizabeth?"

"W-We didn't have nothing to do with it!" One of the woman stuttered out, her gaze darting to the knife.

"Yeah. We just thought she couldn't handle her liquor proper." The other licked her lips, looking to her leader for further explanation, and perhaps protection.

Melissa leaned forward. "Mister, my mama was a crazy women. She came at with a knife once a week. That-" She gestured toward the knife, -"don't scare me. However we're telling the truth. We didn't drug her. Though I wish I'd thought of it."

Bold as brass, Red was having a hard time holding himself back from jumping the table and cutting out her tongue once and for all.

"Who did?" Red was suspicious. A practiced liar himself, he could usually tell if someone was deceiving him. Melissa appeared to be truthful, which irked him.

"I saw the waiter delivering your drinks set down his tray to look at his phone. A man came up and dropped something in Lizzie's drink and walked out the front door."

Lizzie. She'd used _his_ name for her. Rage colored his neck and face, as well as shame. He'd been so focused on her, he hadn't noticed the man slipping out the door, probably behind him. This was his fault. For all his promises to keep her safe, he'd let his guard down. Noticing his expression, Melissa spoke:

"If you're asking me why I didn't come forward, well, I just to see wanted to see what would happen." Her smirk had returned as she leaned back.

Red's grip on the knife tightened. Just one quick jab, between the rib and up into the heart. But Lizzie needed him now. The trio would pay once she was safe. Red turned heel and returned to her, dropping the knife on the table before scooping Lizzie up in his arms, one hand under the legs, once hand supporting his back. She was small in his arms, diminished to a faded idea of the strong woman who'd stabbed him the neck with a pen the first chance she'd gotten. He would kill whoever had reduced her to such. Her eyes darted under her lids, and he wondered what she was dreaming of.

Outside, she appeared paler and Red looked up at the sound of running footsteps. Ressler. He'd been parked in a surveillance van a few blocks away, and ever the Boy Scout, must've run all the way here as not to break the cover. Too late for that, Donald. Red ignored him for now, and ignored the worry in Dembe's face as well as he opened the door and gently lowered Lizzie into the backseat.

"What happened? What did you do to her?" Ressler's eyes flashed with distrust.

"Donald..." Red's voice was eerily calm and patient, and anyone who had spent some time in Red's company knew this meant he was furious. "I thought you knew by now I would never do anything to hurt her."

He removed his coat and draped it over her. He was reminded of the Stewmaker a lifetime ago. Lizzie sagged against the seatbelt, and Red felt a new flare of hate toward the man who'd done this.

"I'm taking her to the hospital, just in case."

"I'm coming with you." Ressler tone left no room for argument and Red only nodded, allowing him to take the passenger seat while he sat next to Lizzie. Her hand was warm in his, and he squeezed it.

"Hold on, sweetheart."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the feedback guys! Most of this story will be Red-centric, and it's my first time writing him. I apologize for any break in canon. **

Red disliked hospitals. The smell, the wait. They held too many memories, mostly bad ones. He shifted his weight on the hard plastic chair, his fedora beside him. Somewhere, a woman coughed and Ressler paced a few feet away, speaking in low tones into his phone. From what Red could gather they were pulling security camera footage. What a funny world his had become. Here he was, hoping the cameras weren't compromised. He raised his head at the sound of steps across tile. A doctor was coming toward him, her face drawn. Red's heart jumped again as he stood to meet her.

"Mr. Reddington, I'm sorry to tell you but she wasn't drugged. She was poisoned."

The world spun and he blinked it back into place.

"It's a new strain of ricin we've never seen before."

Red cut her off before she could explain anymore.

"Is there a cure?"

"No, not for ricin. I suggest you spend as much time with your friend as possible. She may very well die soon." She paused, unsure, then added. "She's in Room 102."

Red shoved past her, heard another set of footsteps, the doctor speaking with Ressler, then he was through the door. Desperation was in every step.

The door to Room 102 was closed, with an FBI Agent and Dembe standing guard. The agent moved to stop Red but Dembe shook his head and opened the door for him. As he passed, Dembe spoke. "She's not good, Ray." Red had heard the cries of men on their knees, screams as they died, the crunch of bone. Those didn't compare, or cut him as deeply, as the sound of Lizzie retching. He came further into the room and looked in. She was hovering over the toilet, sweating and shaking. The I.V. was still in her arm. The gown clung to her hunched frame and Red wanted nothing more than to hold her hair back, speaking soft words and rubbing her back.

"You're not allowed in here!"

The nurse's sternness brought him back to reality. The Post Office was built on secrecy, and saying he had every right was demolish that in seconds. The Blacklist, Lizzie's mission, it would all be gone just for a few seconds alone with her.

"She needs her privacy. You can see her during visiting hours."

Red backed out of the room and closed the door. Ha. Visiting hours. He'd just sneak in to see as he'd done before. Before. It had killed him to see her lying to still the last time. This time he could do something about it. There _had _to be a cure.

"Reddington." He turned to face Ressler.

"We got the camera footage. There was indeed a man who paused behind the waiter. We couldn't get a solid I.D. but we tracked him to his car. It's registered to a George Riley, low time drug dealer."

"Let's go." Red certainly never would've guessed he'd be working with the man who'd spent years of his life tracking him down. Red placed a hand on Dembe's shoulder when he started to follow, a silent ask to stay. Lizzie would be in good hands with Dembe watching over her. Red's strides grew longer as he walked back the way he came, quashing the impulse to run. Time wasn't on Lizzie's side.

* * *

The home of George Riley could summed up in one word: seedy. Overgrown lawn, cracked driveway, a second car on bricks, and to complete the picture one window boarded up. Ressler cast a glance at Reddington. He couldn't imagine what the other man must be thinking. He hadn't spoken a word the whole car ride, save for some questions about the case. Ressler raised a hand and knocked on the screen door, which bounced against the wooden one with each repetition. An object clattered to the floor from inside accompanied with curses, and the door opened. George squinted into the sunlight, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a three day beard.

"George!" Red exclaimed with a grin, greeting the man as if he were a long lost friend.

"Do I know you...?" Ressler could see the cogs in his drug addled mind turning. He opened his mouth to speak but Red beat him to it.

"No, but you will."

Red withdrew a gun and shoved the other man backwards inside the house, George protesting all the way. Resseler followed him inside, knowing it was against everything in the book but he wanted to find this mystery man as much as Reddington. Sometimes that meant using unorthodox methods.

"Is this about drugs? Did you get a bad batch? 'Cause I can get you some better stuff, just please don't kill me."

Reddington had the man at gunpoint. George was backed against a wall, hands raised in the air and blubbering.

"You can keep the cesspool you call your life if you tell me where your car is."

"My car?" George's brows furrowed. "It's right out front-"

"Your _good_ car." Red growled.

George's demeanor changed.

"Jimmy! This is about Jimmy? When you find him, you can tell that son of a bitch I want my car back, no scratches."

Ressler spoke up.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"To the docks, man. He works at the docks. That's all I know, I swear."

"What's his last name?"

"Willson. Jimmy Wilson."

Reddington lowered the gun and crossed the distance to George. George winced, tough guy attitude gone. Ressler stepped forward to intervene.

"That wasn't so hard, was it George?"

"N-No."

"And you won't be telling anyone about this meeting?"

"No sir." George's head bobbled emphatically.

"If I find out you called Jimmy to warn him, I'll come back here and make you wish you hadn't. Do we understand each other?"

George reply was strangled by fear.

Red holstered his gun and straightened his fedora, his face serious.

"We'll be watching, George."


	4. Chapter 4

It was approaching afternoon as Red reached the docks. Seagulls whirled in the air, and as he stepped out, the pungent smell of reached his nostrils. He'd almost forgotten how to drive, so used to Dembe taking him everywhere he needed to go. But it had been necessary so Ressler to update Cooper and the others about their progress. Red glanced down at the photo he'd taken. It was a group one, with George, Jimmy, and two other men he didn't recognize, beaming proudly as they all held up one part of a giant fish. Red didn't kill for sport. Each death had a point, a purpose, to either protect himself or someone he cared about. Although, there were exceptions when he killed just to rid the world of another bottom feeder.

The world was tinted behind his sunglasses as he searched the passing faces. He knew he stood out here, among the overalls, jackets, and grime but perhaps it was in the sense a vividly colorful creature warns it is dangerous. Red passed the photo to Ressler, he already had Jimmy's face in his mind. The docks served two purposes: fishing and cargo. Jimmy worked in the fishing end, but who was to say he hadn't dipped his toe in the cargo business? Red stepped around a pile of fish blood and guts. The F.B.I. would be here soon, he'd need to work fast. It was Ressler who stopped Jimmy and went ahead of Red to confront him. Red felt a spark light in his gut but he shoved it back down and went to join him. Jimmy was in the middle of stuffing something into the fish's mouth. It looked like a packet of cocaine.

"You know if I didn't want to kill you I'd be admiring you. That's rather ingenious, if a little cliche." Red's voice boomed around the room.

Jimmy whirled and looked ready to bolt, shifting eyes and turned hips.

"Relax Jimmy, we're friends of George. He wants his car back, by the way."

Jimmy was still tense, his gaze bouncing from Ressler to Red.

"What's this about?"

"The poison you slipped the young woman at the restaurant. Where's the cure?"

Jimmy let out a bark of laughter. "There ain't no cure. That's the whole point."

Red's blood ran cold. Someone wanted Lizzie to die, to truly die. He picked up one of the gutting knives and causally spun the handle between his fingers.

"When I was no older than you, I worked for a fisherman. Hated the smell, it has a nasty habit of sticking to the roof of your mouth. I spent all day catching, gutting, and packing fish. A terrible job, but I needed the money. That is, until I found out my mentor had taken more than fish. A whole of _bunch_ of cash that somebody wanted back very badly. They came in the middle of the night, with their flashlights and guns. I saw them coming and grabbed a knife very much like this one. The old man died first after he told them the location, then they came down to the cabin to hear it apart." Red paused, stopped the motion and allowing his fingers to wrap around the handle. "I imagine you know alot about these knives, Jimmy. Human stomachs offer alot less resistance than fish, just a layer of skin before you get to the guts." Red looked Jimmy in the eye. "I wonder what the police would think if they found you gutted exactly like one of your fish?"

Jimmy swallowed, saying nothing. It was only when Red pressed the knife to his sternum that he spoke, watching the rivulets of blood leak to stain his shirt.

"Ok, ok, there is a cure! Richard made it in case anyone tried to use it against him."

"Richard Constatine?" Ressler asked. Red could hear sirens in the distance.

"Yeah, him. He's not here, he's at home."

Jimmy had heard the sirens too and made a move to run before Ressler's arm shot around and spun him around, taking out his handcuffs and attaching one cuff to a metal pole. "Wait! That's not fair!"

Red set down the gutting knife and faced him.

"Life isn't fair. Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

The sirens were closer now, and Red thought of a very different pair of sirens, to a hospital where Lizzie was slowly dying. In his last checkup with Dembe, she'd been growing worse. This time Red ran, heavy thumps sounding on the wooden planks that shook dust and dried flakes of blood into the water below.


End file.
